Fade To Gray
by IAmGlitterati
Summary: My bad summary: Kurt is forcefully abducted. Cue dramatic music and a montage of action scenes. Then cue sad music and people that miss him. Then cue the "Coming Soon" sign. Yeah. I swear, its better than the summary. Please believe me.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Just a warning, this is appearing to be the beginning of a very, very, screwed-up "let's torture Kurt!" story. And, for those of you waiting for an update on Can't Do It Alone, I'm just warning, that isn't happening soon...I seriously don't know where to go with that story. But, here's a different story. Hopefully you'll like it just as well?**

Rachel Berry sat curled between her two dads as they watched the news, half-reading the book version of Wicked. Bits and pieces of the latest story to trickle into the Lima Ohio News Room reached her ear. _"February 26, 2011…" _Noah Puckerman was sprawled across the couch in his house, too tired from football practice to change the channel from the news to a better show. _"6:30 P.M…" _Finn Hudson was collapsed in a chair at the Hummel-Hudson household, biting savagely at a grilled cheese sandwich, the news blaring at him from the tv. _"…at Dalton Academy…"_ William Schuester sat at his kitchen table, partially-graded Spanish tests spread in front of him, taking partial notice of the name of the school that had popped up suddenly in the news from the television. _"… in Westerville, Ohio…"_ Artie Abrams tapped his fingers impatiently on the armrest of his wheelchair, waiting for his mom to stop watching the news and let him play Guitar Hero. He casually noticed the name of the school, remembering his once-Gleemate that now went there. _"…was the last place the missing teen was seen_…" Quinn Fabray, bent over her homework, glanced up in interest as the statement from the television in the next room over reached her ears. _"…if anyone has any information on the whereabouts of Kurt Hummel, please contact the Westerville or Lima Police Departments." _Burt Hummel, sitting next to his suddenly-frozen stepson, let the television remote drop numbly from his fingers.

* * *

Kurt Hummel woke, eventually becoming aware of a lulling motion and the noise of a growling engine. He lay very still a moment, the blackness that obscured his vision confusing and terrifying him. Then his head throbbed unpleasantly, a sort of repetitive stabbing feeling, and, in a frightening rush of clarity, the memories came flooding back.

* * *

_"Hey, you're Kurt Hummel, right?"_

_ Kurt turned, straightening his Dalton jacket, squinting against the late afternoon sun. "Yes, what can I do for you?"_

_ The two men that stood before him exchanged glances. _

_ "That your boyfriend over there?"_

_ Kurt glanced behind him at Blaine, disappearing into a nearby building. "No," he said, a growing sense of unease settling in his stomach as the two men took a step closer. "What do you want?"  
"You might know my cousin." Kurt stumbled back as the taller of the two folded his arms threateningly. "You kissed him in a locker room, when he was alone and defenseless."_

_ "…Karofsky…" breathed Kurt in sudden realization, a sense that was swiftly followed by fear. He moved to run, but before he could, two sets of hands grabbed at him, successfully keeping him still. _

_ "Interesting you don't deny that." Sneered Karofsky's cousin._

_ "I didn't." He stammered. _

_ "Its funny; I don't believe you." His struggles were no use against the chloroform-soaked cloth that was pressed roughly over his nose and mouth. _

_

* * *

_

Kurt could feel every single bump the car raced over, each smallest imperfection in the road jarring him uncomfortably. The bag over his head made the air stuffy and hard to breathe, and the walls pressing against him on all sides made him fairly certain he was currently in the trunk of a very, very small car. A trunk that, undoubtedly, would run out of air sooner then later. He shifted, struggling against the bag that obscured his eyesight and breathing, but all the good his movements did him was to make him aware of the throbbing pain in his wrist, which he instinctively clutched to his chest, a sick feeling of dread tugging at him as he felt the lump that indicated it was broken. With each second that passed, his breathing felt more and more labored. He could hear his ragged breaths in his own ears, feeling as if he was attempting to suck the oxygen out of water, until, eventually, he gave in to the cool, blissful nothingness that was beckoning him.

**A/N: I'm hoping you didn't totally hate my pathetic, short beginning? If you want it continued, review please :) Love ya!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks ever so much to all of you that reviewed the first chapter. Here is your wonderful reward:**

* * *

"Damn it! Is he alive?"

"This can't be good."

"Did he run out of air or something?"

The voices blended and blurred together from somewhere above Kurt, barely reaching him in the foggy semi-conscious state he found himself in. One of the shapes that was speaking shifted suddenly, and a gust of cold wind slapped him across the face, forcing his eyes open, relief washing into him from the cold clear air that had suddenly replaced the warm, thick air of the trunk. The relief, however, didn't last long.

"See? He's alive."

"Thank god. Now get him inside before anybody notices."

It occurred to Kurt that the bag over his head had disappeared, and for a moment he felt a flicker of hope, that just as quickly came crashing down at the last statement. The shorter man leaned down and, with a flick of a knife, undid the ropes that tied his feet, then immediately pressed the knife against the back of Kurt's neck.

"Here's how its going to go, Princess," he muttered under his breath. "Just over there is our hotel room, and we need to get inside there before anybody notices anything suspicious. You are going to act normal. But if you even try to make a run for it, I have this knife set up right against your neck. And how far would you get, anyway? I think we all know that your wrist looks pretty broken."

The taller of the two men slammed the trunk of the car shut, two bags in his hand. "Alright, let's go."

Each step Kurt took towards the door of the hotel room, his heart sank lower. He could feel the cold blade rubbing up against his skin, he could feel the hand tightly clenched around his upper arm, wrinkling the fabric of his Dalton blazer. He stumbled just before reaching the door, warranting him a hushed threat and a small cut from the man who held him. The door closed behind them, the lock clicking shut, and Kurt fought the urge to suddenly break into tears.

The taller of the two men breathed out a sigh of relief, throwing the bags onto the bed and shrugging off his heavy winter coat. Kurt noted with interest the tattoo located on his forearm, a skull surrounded with barbed wire. If he wasn't so terrified, he would have laughed at how stereotypical the tattoo design was. The man flipped the blinds closed before turning on the lights.

"Which bag?" He asked the shorter man, whose hands were still tight around Kurt.

"The smaller one."

"This one?"

"Yeah." Tattoo-man unzipped the bag and reached into it, pulling out a roll of duck tape.

"You can let go of him. He won't run anywhere." Tattoo-man's voice grew sickeningly sweet. "Will you?"

Kurt stayed completely silent, but this only served to anger his captor. "Will you?" He growled, a feral tone to his voice.

"No," Kurt whispered, cursing his high pitched voice, as it only served to make him sound like a nine-year old girl.

"Good. See?" Tattoo-man glanced down at the shorter man, who, with a moment of hesitation, let go of Kurt. "Why don't you go get us some dinner?" The shorter man glanced around, then nodded, straightening his hat before stepping into the cold, the door closing securely behind him. Tattoo-man inspected the roll of duct tape a minute, looking for the end. "You know, Kurt, we're not total barbarians." His voice was low, conversational, as he sank into the hotel room's chair. "We don't do things without reason." He glanced up to make eye contact with Kurt. "But unfortunately-" He broke off as he found the end of the duct tape, peeling off a piece. "Unfortunately, there is reason in this situation."

Kurt, acting on basic instinct, took one last terrified attempt at freedom. He launched himself for the door, the feeling of hope returning as his fingers closed around the knob and turned. But too slow. It was too slow. Tattoo-man wrapped his hands around Kurt's throat, dragging him back to the center of the room and pinning him down on the bed.

"What's the matter, Kurt?" Tattoo-man pressed a strip of duct tape over Kurt's mouth. "Didn't you say you wouldn't run? It's not nice to break promises." He hauled the boy to his feet, wrapping a second strip of duct tape around Kurt's wrists, not paying attention to the teen's sharp intake of breath at the movement of his broken wrist.

_I won't let them see me cry, _Kurt resolved as the duct tape was sealed. So he waited until he was thrown into the closet, the door shut and locked, to let the tears escape. Slits of light filtered in through the cracks, casting long lines of pale yellow light across the floor of the closet. The smell of food and the sound of talking filtered into his small prison cell, and Kurt let his emotions out, tears falling fast and heavy, no sound escaping from the duct tape that bound his mouth.

* * *

Burt sat in the car, head buried in his hands. The porch lights of the house were on, and he knew he should go inside, tell Carole and Finn that the police had no leads, that they had promised him they would try their best, but not to get up hope. A drumming on the windshield of the car alerted the man inside to the freezing rain that had started to come down, soon to coat the roads and houses in an icy mess. Burt sat back in his seat, and closed his eyes, remembering the last time he had seen his son, only three days before.

* * *

_"Dad, you're sick! Will you please listen to the doctor's orders?" The brown haired teen reached out to yank the bag of chips from Burt's hands._

_ "Kurt, its one bag of chips."_

_ "Are you forgetting I literally just found four others hidden away in the cupboards?"_

_ Burt held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, I get it Kurt, you're worried about me. But kiddo, I can take care of myself."_

_ Kurt placed his hands on his hips and glared at his father. "Are you forgetting what happened just last fall?"_

_ "What are you implying? That I can't take care of myself?"_

_ "Obviously not." The teen grabbed the bag of chips, tossing them into the trashcan._

_ "Kurt!"_

_ "It's for your own good."_

_ "Kurt, nothings going to happen to me if I eat one bag of chips."_

_ "You're being selfish, Dad."_

_ "Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, do not try and get me to feel guilty about this again."_

_ The teen threw up his arms and turned on his heel, his voice fading as he disappeared down the hallway. "Fine. I won't. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to Dalton. If you don't continue to break every rule, I'll see you next week."_

_ Burt never said goodbye. _

* * *

The freezing rain was coming down harder now, and it seemed to slice at Burt as he stepped out of the warm security of the car. Carole opened the door, silently taking his coat from him. Finn stood impatiently in the doorway from the living room, his eyes asking the question that lingered in the air. Burt couldn't help but feel that something was off, and he had to refrain himself from turning towards the stairs to see a slim, fashionably-dressed son that wasn't there.

"Well?" Finn broke the silence.

"They have no leads." The words hung heavy in the air, even as Carole slid one arm around her husband and one around her son, trying to offer them comfort that she had no way of giving. A comfort that could only come from a boy that was missing, somewhere in the storm, in far more danger than any of them could imagine.

* * *

**A couple of reviews would be nice...to keep me motivated...not that I'm pressuring you or anything...yes, reviews would be nice...**


	3. Chapter 3

**So..um...I'm back. *dodges stones and other projectiles* Yes, I know, I'm an awful person. But now school is over, exams are done, the school musical I was in is over...and now I solemnly swear that from here on I shall attempt to write at least a chapter a week. So, sorry about how short this one is, but a longer, better one is coming soon. Once again, so sorry about this whole "not-updating-for-four-months" thing! Don't kill me! **

The single thing that both comforted and terrified Kurt was that the men had a plan. It meant he had a slightly lower chance of dying. He had read somewhere on the internet that a lot of joint kidnapping-murder cases happened because the kidnapper had no plan beyond taking the person…he had nothing to turn to. So when fear of being discovered, of his disguise being unmasked became too much, he disposed of the evidence of his crimes. In a split-second, frantic decision, a life could be lost.

These men, though, had no second thoughts. No guilty consciences. They had a plan, and the determination to carry it through. As Kurt sat as still as possible in the backseat, mentally cursing the kidnappers for their calculating minds. They had left the original car in a Wal-Mart parking lot, somehow obtaining an old van…with only one door leading from the backseat to the outdoor world, and heavily tinted windows. Upon an all-too brief examination, Kurt noticed the contortion of metal around the one door in the backseat and the trunk. A tell-tale mark of welding. He wryly mentally congratulated the men on thinking ahead.

As the hours passed, the smooth feel of highway gave way to the potholes and rough gravel patches of seldom-used back roads. The van would shake violently on the trying terrain, causing Kurt to grit his teeth and clamp a hand against his inflamed and grotesquely bent wrist, until soon it was an endless stretch of pure agony centered around his wrist. In a desperate attempt to distract himself from the pain, he stared out the window, watching the suburban buildings slowly give way to trees, tall and leering in the coming dusk. He felt a chill run down his spine as the rain started up, drops ringing against the metal roof. Kurt didn't believe in omens, didn't believe in signs, but for once the rain seemed like something more than weather_. How ironic_, he thought, with a crooked smile, _that I, Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, would turn to religion and myth_.

"Why are you smiling?" Growled Tattoo-man, noticing the wry smile that graced Kurt's face.

Kurt gave a minute shake of his head. "Nothing."

Tattoo-man fixed him with a glare before turning back to the road. "Check the map….how much longer?" This was directed to the shorter man, who fumbled with the large map spread on the dashboard.

"Um…not long. Less than five minutes, I think."

"Good," Tattoo-man caught a glimpse of Kurt looking at him in the rearview mirror, "Stop looking at me, kid. Its freaking me out…and I don't like getting freaked out." His voice was terrifying, having already mastered the art of quiet, calm threats.

The headlights illuminated a shape looming out of the darkness. A one-story brick house, moss growing in the cracks of the bricks, windows boarded up with sheets of old plywood. Around it, the woods stretched endlessly in all directions, encroaching heavily on the seldom-used road.

The van grumbled to a halt, and Kurt bit back a yelp as he was suddenly manhandled out of the car, and forced through the doorway, gun pressed against his back. As he stepped into the pitch-black interior, he had a stifling feeling that perhaps he wouldn't come out alive. And if he did, by some miracle, survive…then he would come out not the same…forever changed by the terror that lurked in this abandoned, isolated house.

**Once again, sorry for the shortness of that...a new chapter will be up in the next week. Reviews help to motivate me!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Slightly longer...typed really hurriedly, so sorry if quality isn't as good. And, I'm just going to warn you, I WAS watching Sweeney Todd right before I wrote this chapter, so I was in a rather "torture-the-Kurt" mood. I mean, I'll probably end up doing worse to him...*guilty laugh*...but still. Read and review!**

David Karofsky felt his eyes slowly start to cross as he stared at his Pre-Calculus book, not comprehending a single word that passed through his head. Truth be told, he had had a hard time concentrating on anything recently, every since he had heard the news about that Kurt Hummel kid. Jesus, of all the kids to get taken, why did it have to be _that _one? He may have terrorized the kid, but he didn't _hate _him. He actually had a secret respect for the male diva; he dressed like a prissy girl, but he didn't let anything bother him.

"This is hopeless," Dave muttered, slamming the book shut and leaning back in his chair. He rubbed his hands tiredly across his eyes, and eyed the football that rested on his unmade bed. Maybe he could call up the guys and organize a game, to get his mind off of Hummel. But the second his fingers touched the ball, the phone rang.

"Karofsky residence," He said into the phone.

_"David?"_

"Yeah? Who is this?"

_"Seriously, man? You honestly don't know?"_ The man's laughter was garbled and alien coming through the phone. _"I mean, considering we speak pretty constantly…"_

Suddenly, the voice clicked, and Dave mentally face palmed, wondering how on earth he hadn't recognized the caller earlier. "Rob!" He greeted his cousin. "Sorry, sorry, I've just had a lot on my mind lately."

_"Like the homo that kissed you?"_

Dave swallowed nervously. "Yeah," he said, trying his best to sound nonchalant. "The little fairy went missing, did you hear about that?"

Rob laughed again. _"I did hear about that…pretty damn good timing, I'd say."_

"Yeah," David said heavily.

_"Listen, man, lighten up. You know what you need? A weekend vacation. Some time with your old pals, your own family."_

"Sure, that sounds great," And, now that he thought about it, Dave realized it might be a good opportunity to get his mind off of the whole mess with Hummel. "Should I meet you Friday afternoon at your place?"

_"Actually, Nate and I rented ourselves a nice little cabin out in the woods, with an entire refrigerator full of Bud Light. I'll email you with directions. See ya then, Dave."_

"See ya." There was a click as Rob hung up, and Dave placed the phone back in its cradle. He sat heavily back down in front of the computer, waiting impatiently for his inbox to inform him of a new email. It arrived a little over a minute later, and David scanned through the directions, frowning slightly. It was way out of the way, at least forty-five minutes from the nearest signs of civilization. Oh well, he allowed, who was he to judge his cousin's preferred relaxation spot?

* * *

Kurt strained his ears in a futile attempt to listen in on Tattoo-man's conversation. All he managed were a couple words, nothing helpful to his situation. He relented with a sigh, leaning his head back against the support-pole he was tied to and closing his tired eyes. The air of the basement was murky and thick and smelled strongly of mildew.

He could feel the stare of the shorter man boring into his back, from the man's perch at the top of the stairs. The dim upstairs light poured in around him, creating an overly-dramatic silhouette. Kurt tried to subtly shift his body weight, feeling his muscles begin to cramp and lock up, but to no avail.

Footsteps on the stairs behind him caused his eyes to flutter open, and his breath to catch in his throat in several long moments of suspense. A hand landed heavily on his bicep, gripping it tightly, painfully. Kurt didn't blink or move a muscle this time.

"So," Tattoo-man's voice wasn't growling or angry this time. No, it was level, calm. He knew what he was doing. He was on familiar ground, that much Kurt was sure of. "You're a little fairy. Just a faggy little girl. Aren't you?" Kurt didn't say anything, but he felt the man's hand clench tighter around his arm. "Aren't you?" This time, his voice was more menacing, growing slightly in volume. Still, Kurt did not speak. "I ASKED YOU A QUESTION!" The yell was loud and unexpected, startling in the quiet. Even more unexpected was the fist that collided swiftly and accurately with Kurt's face, knocking his head back against the metal pole. Stars swam in his vision. "Are you ready to answer?" Tattoo-man asked, his voice silky-smooth again. Kurt, head still ringing, tried to remember how to form words, but he took too long, too long. "Still not ready, I guess."

A vicious kick to the chest caused him to double over, the sickening feeling of a rib breaking catching him off-guard. The pain of the break flared and increased with each intake of air into his lungs, and he gasped haltingly for breath, screwing his eyes shut against the pain. A hand grabbed a fistful of his hair and forced his face upwards. "I asked you a question," Tattoo-man reminded him, in the same tone one would use to reprimand a small child caught in an act of mischief. "It's a simple question: yes…or no. And keep in mind, there's only one correct answer."

"…yes…" Kurt coughed out, spots starting to dance across his line of vision.

"You want something for the pain?" The question was asked in a voice that was far too innocent. Kurt knew what was coming, but still he could not prepare for the harsh blow to the back of his head. As he slowly faded into the black realm of unconsciousness, he dimly heard the voice of his captor, echoing as if he was in some sort of surreal nightmare. "There's your pain medication."

**Cliffhanger? Sort of? Ah well...I tried. New chapter coming soon, and yes, at the risk of sounding like a whiny little child, please review! Reviews make me oh-so-happy! **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Oh...gosh. It's been a while. At least this chapter is longer...but seriously, I had writer's block. And then I watched a really bizarre old horror movie...which inspired me. That sentence alone should worry you. So yes, Rob/Tattoo-man's "evil plan" in this chapter was inspired by an old black-and-white horror movie. I do apologize. **

Will Schuester walked down the halls of McKinley, one hand holding onto students' tests, yet to be graded. He found his mind drifting recently, ever since Kurt's abduction. Sure, the teen went to Dalton now, but Will would always have a special place in his heart for the Original Six…the kids who had stopped him from taking that step towards a different job, that step that would have surely led him to crash and burn. Glee Club had been somber this past week, none really in the mood to practice or perform. Even Puck and Santana had toned down their comments and actions. Hell, even Lauren, who hadn't ever really had any contact with Kurt, had seemed a little down.

Without warning, a hand shot out from inside a room, wrapping around his arm and pulling him in.

"Sue, what the-" He was silenced by a finger pressed up against his lips.

"Okay, Schuester, here's how it's going to go down." The face of Sue Sylvester loomed out of the darkness. "In the late 80s, I became a certified agent of the CIA, trained in the ways of torture, reconnaissance, and recovery. With that in mind, I'm sure that by now the news about Porcelain has forced its way into your knowledge through that thick carpet of yours that you call hair."

Will eyed the cheerleading coach. "No offense Sue, but I think we should leave this up to the police."

"The police?" She snorted. "Those brainless wimps couldn't find Porcelain if he was delivered to the station in a rainbow-colored basket with a neon sign identifying him on it." She paused, and took another menacing step towards Will. "It's up to you and me, Schuester."

* * *

Kurt was roused by the rubbing of rope on his wrists as the restraints were taken off roughly. The short man grabbed onto his shoulder and hauled him to his feet. "Come along now, Fairy. Get a move on."

Kurt stumbled forward, his body protesting, still sore from the bruises and cuts that plagued him. As he set foot on the first stair, the world spun alarmingly. Only the fist clenched tightly around his bicep kept him from falling. He worked his way painstakingly up the stairs, wincing as the harsh glare of sunlight stabbed at his dark-adjusted eyes. He was led towards a back door, and he felt a brief glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, this was it. They were going to let him go.

He didn't know how long he had been here; the days were indecipherable in the dark basement. He knew, at least, that it had been three days since the last time he had had food, and he knew that it had been five days since the police's search for him had started. His captors kept him updated, telling him their false leads, the far-away places they were searching, a barely-concealed hint of amusement in their tones as they read to him one article that suggested he had not been kidnapped; rather, he had run away. They knew these news stories were getting to their young captive; the hopelessness of each wrong clue, the homesickness with each quote by Burt Hummel.

Kurt attempted to block all of this out of his mind as the door swung open before him, and he was shoved forward roughly, stumbling across the uneven terrain until he reached the grassy circle surrounded by trees on one side, the back wall of the house on the other.

"How are we feeling today?" Tattoo-man's words were pleasant, but his tone was the polar opposite. He leant against a tree trunk, hands shoved into his jean pockets. "I've come to the conclusion that you aren't really…enjoying…yourself." The short man snickered, but stopped when Tattoo-man silenced him with a glare. "As I was saying," he continued, "I think I've come up with a solution to that. Well, to that, and to our boredom." He straightened up, walking towards Kurt, who eyed him warily. Tattoo-man bent down in front of Kurt, their eyes meeting, a shudder running down the teen's body. "Tell me, Kurt…" He grinned crookedly, "…do you like games?"

* * *

Dave Karofsky drove leisurely along the winding road, watching the trees flash by his windows. Really, the forest wasn't so bad. It was actually rather pretty. He squinted down at the map he had printed out. Should be less than five minutes until he got to Rob's rented cabin. The jock flipped on the radio, groaning when he realized it was set, inexplicable, to a news station. The second he heard Kurt's named mentioned, he shut the radio off for good. His goal for this weekend was just to relax, have fun with his cousin, and whatever happened, just forget about Kurt Hummel.

He reached the cabin, the only building around for miles. As soon as he pulled into the thin driveway, Rob appeared in the doorway, grinning. Dave returned the smile as he climbed out of his car, yanking out his duffel bag. "Hey man! How's it going?" He called.

Rob clapped his cousin on the back. "Pretty good, man, pretty good. Just wait till you see what I've got for our entertainment." He pulled open the door, and ushered Dave into the living room. "Come on in. You can put your stuff anywhere."

"Where's Nate? Is he here with you?"

"Yeah, he's just…finishing up something in the back. He'll be in soon. Take a seat, relax. Do you want something to drink?"

Dave sank onto the faded couch. "Sure."

Rob pulled a bottle out of the fridge and tossed it towards Dave, who caught it casually, taking a sip. At that moment, the back door opened, and Nate stomped in, brushing dirt off of his hands. He locked eyes with Rob, and the two exchanged a subtle nod, leaving Dave secretly questioning the motion.

"So, Dave." Rob leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Remember how last time we hung out, Nate and I took you hunting?"

"Yeah?"

"You enjoyed it, right?"

"Yeah…" Dave wondered where this was going.

"Well, let me tell you a little secret about this place. We're probably the only humans in a five mile radius, and the forests back behind this house are thick and dark. It's hard to see things back there, and even harder to shoot. It all adds to the thrill of the hunt, an invigorating game." Rob winked at Dave, who grinned in response. "And tonight, my friend, the three of us are going out to a pretty large section of fenced-in land, where I can assure you, there's some fine game to hunt. Sounds good?"

Dave nodded. "Sounds like fun."

"Exactly." Rob unzipped a bag lying on floor beside his chair. He pulled out three objects that appeared, to Dave's eyes, to be tranquilizer guns. "This is what we're using first. Why finish them off, if doing that would rob you of future hunts?" He then dipped his hand into the bag once more, pulling out a small handgun. His face grew darker. "There's one shot in this. We're not shooting to kill…but if something goes wrong, you fire this straight at the prey. No mercy." He looked his cousin straight in the eye. "Alright?"

Dave nodded. "Alright." He paused. "So…what exactly are we hunting? Rabbits? Deer? Bears?"

Nate laughed and Rob shook his head mysteriously, a small grin appearing on his face. "Something like that. You'll see." The taller of the two looked out at the sky through the window. "It's getting dark." He tossed one of the tranquilizer guns and the handgun at Dave. "Let's go play."

* * *

Kurt ran desperately through the forest, feeling the thick underbrush lash at his legs and knees. His breath came in short gasps. _Be a man, _Tattoo-man had told him, _and maybe you'll survive. Be a goddamn man for once in your sorry life, and maybe we'll forgive you. And one last thing. You better know how to outrun a bullet. _The day was fading into dusk, darkness permeating the thick greenery. Every sound his feet made seemed too loud to his ears. He didn't know where he was running to, but he knew he was surrounded by the barbed wire that trapped him in a gigantic, oversized circle. Like an arena, he realized, like this was some screwed up game of gladiators. The sky and surrounding area was darkening at an alarming pace. He heard a shout and laughter from far away, and, with a sickening twist of his stomach, he realized it had begun. He quickened his pace, speeding away from where the noises had come from. But they were moving too; he could hear them as they crashed through the bushes, the beam of their flashlights bouncing off of trees. He felt his pulse quicken. _This is sick. _He felt his panic turn to hysteria, tears blurring his vision and his chest tightening as he sucked in quick, panicked breaths.

His captors were going their own ways, but it was not two of them. There were three. One behind him, two closing in on the sides. He caught a glimpse of a flashlight to his left, the man still too far away to see him. He quickened his pace even more, praying to a God he didn't even believe in. An excited shout echoed through the forest; Tattoo-man's voice. He had been spotted. He turned abruptly, desperately. They were closing in on him. Then, in a heartbeat, his foot caught on a branch, and he was sent sprawling onto the ground. A flashlight focused on him. He looked up, tear streaming down his face. And locked eyes with a very, very familiar person.

* * *

Dave stared, not believing the sight that awaited him in the light of his flashlight. The pale skin, now mottled with bruises and cuts, the long-ish brown hair, the slight frame. The realization hit him like a lead weight. _Hummel, _he thought. _That's who-that's what! They're hunting Kurt. _He fumbled with his flashlight, flicking it off. Reaching out a hand to the boy who lay trembling in the dirt and leaves, he pulled him to his feet.

"Run!" He hissed, gesturing in the direction that led away from Rob and Nate. "Go!" The boy simply stared at him for a moment with those expressive eyes, then turned and dashed off into the cover of night again.

As soon as Hummel was out of sight, disappearing into the thick trees, Dave flicked back on his flashlight and cleared his throat. "Rob?" He called.

Rob came crashing towards him. "Did you get it? Did you get our present?"

Dave felt like throwing up. "No," he said, struggling to hid how his hands trembled. "I just got a text…I have to head back home to take care of something. It's real important..I hate to leave, but I promise, I'll be back as soon as possible…either later tonight or tomorrow morning."

"Bummer." Rob looked around, then shrugged. "Ah well. Nate and I will walk you back to the house…we can finish up this hunt tomorrow night."

As the cousins made their way back to the cabin, Dave prayed that wherever Kurt was hiding, he could remain unharmed until Dave returned.

* * *

He didn't know just what drove him to go to this place, instead of to the police. He just wasn't thinking; it was pure adrenaline that had gotten him back to Lima. He didn't have time for thinking, didn't have time for logic. He raised a hand, and rang Sue Sylvester's doorbell.

* * *

Sue opened the door, ready to berate and belittle whoever bothered to disturb her at this time of night. She didn't need sleep, because, honestly, she _was _Sue Sylvester. But this was her time for plotting and scheming. She snorted as she saw who it was who had disturbed her. Dave Karofsky. She was about to lay into him, when she saw the wide eyes, the shaking hands. Something was up. The next words he spoke stunned her into silence.

"Please, Coach Sylvester…I know where Kurt is."

**A/N: I had to add Sue into this story. I just had to. So...comments, feedback, suggestions for future happenings? These would be appreciated in the form of a review! Please? Pretty please with a cherry on top? Yes, I'm desperate. However could you tell?**


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